


is it war if you fight it, is it love when you don't

by justicarwrites



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:18:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justicarwrites/pseuds/justicarwrites
Summary: Freya reflects on her evolving perception of love.or: the one where a woman learns to let herself heal.





	is it war if you fight it, is it love when you don't

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I'm back with a bit of a character study for Freya because I adore her and she makes me overly emotional. This serves as a sort of explanation for why Freya didn't tell Keelin she loved her when she very clearly meant to, as well as an effort to fill in a moment we missed in the way I personally imagine it happening.
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think, I'd really appreciate hearing any thoughts and comments you might have.

When she was mortal, Freya thought love nonexistent.

In fairytales, love was the force driving courageous rescues of daughters from terrifying monsters that sought to exploit them.

In life, daughters were left behind and forgotten, and monsters hid behind claims of love to confuse them.

However, belief in love became more difficult to avoid as she grew older.

During her ill-advised moments of rebellion, she’d travel past the boundaries laid out by Dahlia and watch village people from the outskirts of their settlements go about their lives for hours at a time. She’d see children laughing and playing, unburdened by knowledge that they were unwanted. She’d listen to the songs bards would sing about their paramours, free to express their affection proudly to the world. She’d watch as parents would envelop their kids in embraces filled with a care she nearly forgot could exist.

It took only one of these visits for Freya to determine that love was indeed real, and one more for a near-crippling fear that it was something she’d forever be deprived of to take hold of her.

Perhaps it would have been easier if she still thought it mere fiction.

For centuries after her mortality had been stripped from her, Freya thought love an act of selfishness.

Her love served only to endanger, to put any she might care for at the mercy of She who sought to control her. Supreme cruelty existed in any acted upon desire to indulge in the comforts romance could bring, considering just how much she’d be asking her partner to risk.

Where fear made her averse to love, experience proved that aversion justified.

For the sake of having one perfect year, she sacrificed both the lives of the man that made it possible and that of their unborn child.

Mathias was killed because she let herself love him.

She lost her son because she didn’t keep her vow.

The regret rested like a fog over her mind, a swirling mass of Dahlia’s reminders of how selfish she was and images of Mathias’ blood staining the snow-covered ground. It consumed her thoughts and affected every manner in which she viewed the world. And, as the years went on, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even after managing to flee from Dahlia, she spent her days fueling that fog, holding onto the belief that loving her was a burden no one deserved to bear. One year out of every century, a woman displaced through time and only starting to adjust to the changes in the world she awoke to by the time she’d have to sleep again, all she was certain of was that entanglements needed to be avoided.

It was simpler this way. And kinder to those she encountered.

Loneliness she could bear. Preferred, even.

The thought of allowing someone close to her only to have to mysteriously disappear by year’s end?

It was a pain she refused to endure.

Instead, Freya spent her years crafting a complex system of walls around her heart that guaranteed no one could get in, let alone want to.

A cold exterior maintained by a willingness to do what was necessary because the world was cruel and warmth was never rewarded. A frightening devotion to family paramount to all else because family alone is a bond that cannot be broken. A history of loss and abandonment that brought forth an instinct to run before either of those things could take hold again. A tendency towards self-deprecation caused by centuries of being convinced by others and by herself that she was underserving of care.

And, the wall closest to the core of who she was, the last defense she managed to build: a desire to protect anyone who managed to get that far from the pain that came with loving her.

It took mere weeks, a pair of the most beautiful brown eyes she’d ever seen, and a woman too good to know any better, for those walls to begin crumbling. Centuries of defenses, all eaten away at one by one in less time than it took to notice that it was happening.

Eyes that saw straight through the version of herself that she offered the world. Lips that spoke words of understanding instead of condemnation for the atrocities committed in the name of family. Legs that turned towards instead of away, and when away always set to return. Hands with touches gentle enough to make her feel as if she was better than the worst thing she had ever done.

Keelin was more than Freya expected, more than what she was ready for, and altogether more than what she deserved.

Dahlia had been dead for years, yet the first taste of freedom Freya felt came with the first brush of Keelin’s lips against her own.

Intent to hold onto that feeling as if it was a lifeline and she was in desperate need of saving− it _was_ and she _was_ − Freya grappled with two truths that could not coexist forever.

The first, a truth learned and repeated like a mantra necessary for the beating of her heart to remain persistent:

_“Love is dangerous”_

The second, a truth new and godly and frightening in the way it sought to cut through the fog that clouded her mind for so long:

_“Love is a safe warmth that speaks to the very definition of home”_

So, Freya tried. Harder than she ever tried anything before. Because though her world view was thrown off balance and she was no longer sure of what she felt about love, she knew for certain that she felt it. And she suspected she was not alone in that.

Keelin looked at her as if she were something precious, kissed her like she was something to be savored, laughed with her like her presence was something to be enjoyed. It was nothing she was used to. Entirely different from the way she perceived herself. Completely altered from all the ways she’d before been “loved”.

She meant to confess it aloud that day outside of the hospital.

As the words were meant to tumble out, as Keelin regarded her knowingly but without the pressure of expectation, they were caught on the jagged edges of the last remaining wall she built.

Words held power. To change, to bend reality. She feared those particular words in that particular combination would make what they shared something fragile, because there was this ingrained association between that which was loved and that which was breakable.

Old habits did indeed die hard.

Still, Freya would not risk Keelin fearing that their relationship meant anything less than the world to her. So, where her words failed, Freya told her in every way she knew how. In the way she touched her like she was the closest she’d ever gotten to experiencing the divine. In the truths she told about her history she never before spoke aloud. In the patterns she traced against her bare back as she slept. In the offerings of what little forever she had left to give.

Freya told her, and told her, and told her. And she was _sure_ that Keelin knew.

For a while, that had been enough.

Then another crisis arose, another danger she would rather give her life than risk exposing Keelin to. She struggled endlessly finding some sort of balance between keeping her safe and keeping her close.

Keelin, who insisted on fighting beside her, caring for her. Who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Who made it impossible to run.

Good, patient Keelin, who wanted to make sure she didn’t say those words before she knew Freya was ready to hear them.

Keelin was there as the battle raged on and Freya needed a reminder that her own life was indeed something to value. She was there when the world collapsed and the family she dreamt of finding for centuries was torn to pieces. She was there when the dust settled and Freya remained paranoid that the peace they’d built together was obscuring another threat just around the corner, because in her experience there was _always_ another something to fear. She was there on the days she awoke from her nightmares cold, trembling, and certain that a long-dead witch was on her trail.

Keelin was there when Freya forgave herself for the worst thing she’d ever gone through. She was there when Freya began humming the melodies of the songs the bards from her childhood would sing to pass the time. She was there in every part of the future she finally allowed herself to hope for.

She was there, as she said she always would be.

It was one quiet morning, watching Keelin get ready for an ER shift from where she lay propped up on the bed they shared, that Freya realized she believed her. Her heart beat with love for the woman before her.

And, for the first time in a thousand years, she was unafraid.

In a single moment, the last of her walls collapsed, and their absence felt something akin to healing.

“Keelin…” like a prayer the name fell from Freya’s lips quietly but resonate enough to get her attention.

The light caught Keelin’s eyes as she turned towards her, and the way that shine reminded her of every beautiful thing she’d ever encountered left her breathless.

But, for once, Freya was not speechless.

She said it with a smile that nearly turned into a laugh at the simplicity of the confession.

“I love you.”

The words were not grand. The moment was not spectacular. But the way Keelin’s face lit up when she said it made her feel as though they alone stood atop the world.

Keelin approached her, ghosted the backs of her fingers against Freya’s face, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips that whispered of understanding. The moment was small. But she knew exactly what it meant.

“I love you too.”

Warmth spread through the darkest depths of who she was. She saw the world with a clarity that for so long escaped her.

Love was real. Love had the potential to be as selfless as it was selfish. And love, more than anything else, felt to Freya like liberation.

**Author's Note:**

> currently @freyamikaclson on tumblr and twitter :)


End file.
